Read FROST CHILD (Rebel Angels) Online
Authors: Gillian Philip
FROST CHILD (Rebel Angels)
FROST CHILD
Gillian Philip
Sithe captain Griogair MacLorcan is his queen’s fighter of choice, skilled and ruthless at clearing her glens of the vile Lammyr. He is not used to them coming back, so when they defiantly return, holding a young Sithe girl captive, Griogair doesn’t hesitate to rout them and free the child.
But the girl Lilith has been a long time with Lammyr, and keeps secrets of her own.
The most vulnerable of creatures can be the most deadly.
A prequel to Gillian Philip’s acclaimed FIREBRAND, FROST CHILD tells how Seth’s parents Griogair and Lilith met - and the first deadly consequences.
With thanks to Kathryn Evans & Jennie Hood
and to Andrew Brown
The REBEL ANGELS series:
WOLFSBANE (August 2012)
SNOWLINE (August 2013)
“Utterly thrilling... like Alan Garner, Philip reforges our most popular myths... [Her] clear prose is as fiery as whisky”
Amanda Craig
,
The Times
“Often stark and brutal, but with moments of heartbreaking beauty”
Mary Hoffman, The Guardian
“Adventure writing of immense and energetic skill”
Keith Gray, The Scotsman
“One of the best faerie fantasy books I’ve ever read... Philip has taken her own mythic heritage and made it into something rare, new and infinitely exciting”
Lucy Coats, Scribble City Central
“Everything fantasy should be: vital, charismatic characters; intensely personal stories; big arching themes of power and greed, love and loyalty”
Jill Murphy, The Bookbag
Copyright © Gillian Philip 2011
Published by Very Bad Wolf
Cover design by Andrew Brown of
Design for Writers
All rights reserved.
Gillian Philip asserts her right always to be identified as the author of this work. No part may be copied or transmitted without her written permission.
All characters in this work are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also by Gillian Philip and available on paperback and Kindle
from Bloomsbury Publishing PLC:
And in paperback from Strident Publishing Limited:
Find Gillian Philip on the web at:
www.facebook.com/gillianphilipauthor
And follow her on Twitter: @Gillian_Philip
FROST CHILD
One
If I’d had my way I wouldn’t have been up to my knees in pond-muck with my eyes full of sweat and my nostrils full of gods-knew-what stench from below, but if I’d had my way there wouldn’t have been any need.
I’d told my queen ten years back that Lammyr were nesting in this glen. It wasn’t like her to be complacent but the dark hollow in the hills was many miles from her caverns, and besides, she knew they were afraid of me. And her indifference had infected me, and I’d put off the work, unwilling to argue my case when there were other tasks to be handled, more congenial quarrels to settle. She’d left it too long, and so had I, and now the creatures would be all the harder to prise from their hole.
It was a good day for it: by which I mean it was silent and still and as grey as death. I should say, it was an appropriate day. As far as approaching the Lammyr unheard and unseen, it was the worst we could have picked.
~
Griogair
,
said Niall Mor MacIain.
I glanced across to where he crouched, silent, at one of the cavern entrances. It was no more than a slit in the rock, black and dank, the cold breath of underground seeping from it like marsh gas. The gods knew how deep it was, or where it led, but Niall’s sword blade was bare and he couldn’t repress half a smile; he’d been longing for this. He was rash, was Niall, and he loved a fight, and though I often disapproved, I’d liked him enough to make him my lieutenant.
And after all, I could understand his attitude. Peace and quiet were all very well, but we were getting bored, and fat, and lazy, and so were our fighters. And nobody ever pitied a Lammyr.
~
Quietly, then,
I told him.
~
On three
.
~
Onetwothree
, said Niall, and jumped.
*
There was one advantage to leaving it this long: the Lammyr were every bit as sluggish as we’d been. The first of them turned on me in the gloom with a grinning snarl, but I had the advantage of it and it went down fast. But they were all over the tunnels, quiet and fast and deadly, slinking into their holes like angry snakes. And it was hard to know where those tunnels ended, so we had to dive after them and engage them in the darkness.
I caught the glinting light of yellow eyes to my right; lunged for it. My blow was glancing and I ended up on the rocky floor, grunting as the air was knocked out of my lungs. The Lammyr pattered out of reach and I breathed hard in the silence, listening for its next move.
‘They’ll try to run,’ murmured Donal behind me, his sword raised. ‘They always do.’
‘They should have tried already.’ I frowned. The Lammyr always had an escape route; much as they loved death and a battle, they didn’t see the point of losing fighters unnecessarily. I fully expected them to turn tail, to try and squirm out of some back entrance when they realised we meant business.
Usually I didn’t care where they went; the idea was to kill enough of them to encourage the rest to relocate their foul nest. But these had been here too long, and worse, they’d slunk back after the first time I routed them. Who knew why? I wasn’t asking; I was here to wipe them out. I didn’t give Lammyr a second chance. I valued my throat.
I hated this work. I hated being separated from most of my fighters, with just one man at my back to guard it.
And I hated that my backup wasn’t Leonora.
It wasn’t as if she was handy with a blade; it was only that with Lammyr, there was no more useful fighting partner than a witch. And while I’d never intended to fall for anyone as dangerous and capricious as a witch, I had, and I’d never regretted it.
Ahead of me, wounded, the Lammyr hissed. ‘Missing your bondmate, Griogair?’
‘No,’ I said, annoyed at myself for leaving my block down. Quickly I shuttered my mind.
It giggled. ‘Shouldn’t think so loud.’
‘Shouldn’t goad me.’ I went still, aware that the pinprick light of its eyes had vanished again. To my left there was a faint rustle, a skittering slither, and the man behind me gave a yelp of shock and rage. I felt his blood spatter my arm, and then he was cursing to beat the pain.
‘Donal?’ I said.
‘Fine,’ he snarled.
He wasn’t, but he’d have to wait. And I wasn’t about to drop my block again to ask him properly.
The Lammyr giggled again, but I ducked as a thrown blade sliced the air above my head, then rolled back. I caught its bony ankle more by chance than skill, yanked it down hard as it leaped for the unseen ceiling, and snatched for its wrist before it could reach for another blade.
Gods, it was a strong one. We rolled and struggled in a silent death-grip, and I couldn’t swing my sword-arm, and Donal was evidently out of action. Dropping my sword, I found the Lammyr’s skinny neck with my hands.
There was mucal blood on its dry papery skin, and I wanted to recoil, but I only shuddered and crushed its throat. I was used to the touch of Lammyr blood after all this time, and it wouldn’t burn me, but it wasn’t pleasant. One of its flailing hands grabbed my own neck, but it was wounded and I wasn’t, and I had the better angle and the better grip. It died with an exasperated rattling sigh.
